"You've got it!" MacGregor's exultant voice brought her back. "You've got it! We'll go to work to-morrow at nine."
"No admission, Mac?" asked a man's voice from the doorway. "I gave the regulation knock, but you seemed—" He stopped and gazed hard into the eyes which met his with answering wonder from the lattice.
"I've found her, Atwood," MacGregor hailed him jubilantly. "I've found her at last."
The newcomer took an uncertain step forward, halted again, then strode suddenly toward the screen.
"I think I have, too," he said, at the little window now. "It's Jack, isn't it?"
XIX
And Jean?
It was as if she still dwelt in fancy in that unforgettable past. She had burst her bars; she had come, a fugitive, to the birch-edged shore of a lonely lake; her knight of the forest stood before her.